


A Change of Pace

by allfinehere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drinking, Experiments, Kissing, M/M, Potterlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfinehere/pseuds/allfinehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work for the Sherlock Secret Santa (2013) event, for <a href="http://theringsofakhaten.tumblr.com//">theringsofakhaten</a> on Tumblr. She likes Harry Potter, so I thought I'd give Potterlock a go :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Change of Pace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work for the Sherlock Secret Santa (2013) event, for [theringsofakhaten](http://theringsofakhaten.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr. She likes Harry Potter, so I thought I'd give Potterlock a go :)

The crisp winter air stung John’s cheeks as he dove to catch the Quaffle. Grasping it in one hand, he hurled it back out at the kids and shouted, “Come on, you lot! You can do better than that! I didn’t even play Keeper and I’m kicking your ar - your butts all by myself!” 

Grinning, he directed his broom up to the center of the goals while the students held a whispered conference about how to bypass their teacher and score. When John attended Hogwarts, he had played as a Chaser for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. The Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Gryffindor as he was brave and a bit rash, but he had begged not to be in the same house as his overbearing sister. After a moment of consideration, the Sorting Hat had proclaimed him a Hufflepuff and the rest was history.

John had been a pretty decent Chaser thanks to his size and agility. He played all through his years at Hogwarts and loved every minute of it. He had known he wasn’t good enough to go pro, so after he graduated he entered an internship at St. Mungo’s in order to become a Healer, which he did with great success. He worked there happily for many years, very content to settle into it. However, life had something else in store for him. 

One of the patients he was attending to had been cursed to think that everyone was intent on harming her. As far as they could tell, the woman seemed to believe everyone was some sort of half-animal monster. She had gotten ahold of a visitor’s wand and used Sectumsempra at random, firing curses all over the ward. Unfortunately, one met a target in John’s left shoulder. It had done severe damage, and while the magical hospital had been more effective than a Muggle hospital would have, his shoulder was never the same.

While he was taking some time off to decide whether he wanted to return to St. Mungo’s, he was approached by the Headmaster at Hogwarts who offered him a teaching position. She said John had come highly recommended by the hospital as an ideal candidate for the new Magical Medicine class - another hint that the hospital thought that without a fully functioning shoulder and with PTSD, it might be ‘in his best interests’ not to return. John accepted on the condition that he could also be the new flying coach (also an open position), and at the age of thirty-nine, returned to Hogwarts.

It seemed a little less intimidating, but no less magical, mysterious, and amazing. John was surprised to find it still felt like home, despite the fact that he’d spent the last few decades away. The castle made him feel younger, especially when he got to be out flying with classes or just for fun. He had settled in nicely and became acquainted with the staff fairly quickly. The only teacher he couldn’t really suss out was the Potions teacher, Sherlock Holmes. The man was a genius, excelling at whatever he attempted, but he was also rude and arrogant. Despite Sherlock’s cold personality, John couldn’t help but be intrigued.

The first half of John’s first year teaching had passed quickly. Since both his parents were gone and he really had no desire to see his sister, John volunteered to stay at Hogwarts during winter holidays. As did Sherlock, he noted curiously. Maybe it would be an opportunity to get to know him better. Like as not, though, Sherlock would keep himself busy with experiments rather than socialization.

Today some students had found him reading by a fire and begged him to go flying with them at the Quidditch pitch, and since it was a nice day and he could use the exercise, he agreed. It turned out to be a lot of fun, and maybe he showed off a little once he noticed the tall, dark figure in a blue scarf standing near the bleachers watching. 

When the kids finally scored a goal (because he let them), John called it a day. It would be dinner soon, anyway. He landed and dismounted neatly, striding across the field towards Sherlock. He was nearly in speaking distance when a cold, wet ball of snow hit him in the back of the head. He shuddered as it dripped down his neck and turned to see the perpetrators poking their heads around a section of bleachers and grinned.

“Oi!” shouted John. “You’re lucky if I don’t take points from all your houses! Off you get!” He tried to be stern, but he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. “Hi,” he said as he approached Sherlock. “What brings you out to the pitch?”

Sherlock ignored his question. “You let them score that goal,” he stated. It wasn’t an accusation, merely an observation of fact.

John looked surprised for a moment, then shrugged it off with a laugh. “Yeah, well. It _is_ Christmas and all. Figured I could cut them some slack.”

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise. “You weren’t asked to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Why did you?”

John shot him a look and smirked as he shouldered his broom and began to walk back to the castle. “You’re smart. I’ve seen that deduction thing you do. Why _did_ I stay, hm?”

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock looked him up and down. “Because you don’t have family to see. The lack of post for you as well as the lack of sentimentality in your office - no pictures or notes or such - imply that they are not welcome in your life. So, no family to visit. Well, you do, but you really don’t get on with your brother so you opted to stay here instead.”

John looked taken aback for a moment. “Spot on. Well, except Harry’s my sister, not my brother. And hang on, what were you doing in my office?”

“Looking for something,” Sherlock said absently.

John huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “So, are you going to tell me what you were doing at the pitch? I haven’t seen you out here before.”

“Ah. Yes,” Sherlock said, as though his thoughts had been elsewhere. “I need assistance with an experiment.”

“And I’m the only one you haven’t scared off, right?” John teased.

Sherlock frowned. “You’re the only one I’d tolerate.”

They walked in silence for a moment as John contemplated this. “You don’t even know me. How could you know that?” he asked.

“I know you far better than anyone else here,” Sherlock retorted. “Your left shoulder - an injury from your days at Saint Mungo’s. Sectumsempra, if I had to guess. It didn’t disable you enough to keep you from doing your job there, but you left anyway. They thought you’d be a liability with your PTSD, but it only affects you at night. Nightmares. When you were offered the job here, you accepted because you didn’t want to return to a place of work where your coworkers didn’t trust you. You thought you’d be upset about leaving, but you’re much happier here. Your old job was predictable, but at Hogwarts you’re not entirely certain what might happen here and you love it.”

“Wow,” John said quietly, glancing at Sherlock and then away again. “I feel like I ought to be annoyed about that, but...well. That was pretty amazing. How do you do that?”

“I observe,” Sherlock replied simply, but with a hint of a smile.

John grinned. “All right, then. So what does this experiment involve?”

***

“Sherlock! You said you had it under control!” John exclaimed as he tripped out of Sherlock’s quarters through a haze of smoke. 

“It seems I miscalculated,” Sherlock coughed, leaning against the wall opposite his door next to John. They made eye contact, and both broke out in fits of giggles.

“It was probably my fault,” John gasped. “Didn’t know you put in the shrake spines yet. I must’ve stirred it too quickly.”

Sherlock tipped his head back and tried to catch his breath. “I think I’m going to have to let my room air out non-magically, as it seems we created some sort of anti-spell fog. Which might actually be useful in the right circumstances,” Sherlock added, brightening a little.

“You’re mad,” John giggled. “We can go to my room, if you like. I have a rather nice bottle of firewhiskey that needs some attention, I think,” John offered with a grin.

Sherlock gave him a look that John couldn’t read, then smiled. “I’d like that,” he replied.

John’s room was plainly decorated. There was a solitary Quidditch poster hanging on one wall, but not much else in the way of pictures. His bed was neatly made with a blue duvet, at which Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were sorted into Hufflepuff,” Sherlock said in the sort of tone that implied he knew John had been sorted into Hufflepuff and probably exactly how many points he’d won and lost for his house.

John shrugged. “I just like blue. And I don’t have to do the house colors thing now that I’m a teacher, you know,” he teased. Crossing the room to a cabinet, John got out the bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses, pouring a generous measure in each. “Here you are,” he said, handing one to Sherlock as he settled into one of the two chairs in his spartan room.

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied as he sat in the other chair, still looking around John’s room.

“Why don’t you ever fly?” John asked suddenly.

“I do,” Sherlock replied cooly. 

“Pretty sure you don’t. You haven’t got a broom in your quarters, and you don’t use any of the schools’.”

“And how would you know?” Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised.

John looked slightly embarrassed for a moment. “Well, I came up with a spell that tells me who’s been using each broom. Not to spy or anything,” he added hurriedly. “Just so I can keep track, in case anything ever happened,” he shrugged.

“Smart,” Sherlock commented approvingly. “Forward-thinking. Though hardly necessary, as any crimes students might commit would be laughably easy to solve.”

John was torn between being proud and put out. However, the drink was warm in his belly and causing him to enter a decidedly happy state, so he opted for proud.

“Mm, thanks,” he smiled, tipping back the rest of his drink and refiling his and Sherlock’s glasses. 

“So,” John ventured. “You know why I’m here, and since I’m not a bloody genius, how about you have pity and just tell me why you’re here?”

“I was bored,” Sherlock replied, looking through the amber liquid in his glass. “And Hogwarts provides many mysteries. Opportunities.”

John huffed a laugh. “Not here for the kids, then?”

Sherlock looked appalled. “Certainly not. Though I suppose I am doing the world a service by ensuring they at least have a rudimentary understanding of potions.”

John stared at him in shock for a moment, then erupted into giggles. Sherlock followed suit soon after.

“You are an odd one,” John said, leaning forward. “I like it.”

“That’s not what most people say,” Sherlock replied, mirroring John’s actions.

“Oh? What do they say, then?”

Sherlock paused a moment, then replied, “Piss off.”

Laughing, John set down his near-empty glass. “So, do I get an invite back?”

Sherlock looked puzzled. “For what?”

“To help with experiments.”

“You’d want to assist? Even after today?”

“‘Course. That’s the most fun I’ve had in ages,” John replied.

Suddenly, Sherlock closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to John’s lips, then pulled back before John had a chance to respond. “Yes,” he replied with a smirk. “Definitely.”


End file.
